


It ain't me, it ain't me; I ain't no fortunate one

by teskodanceparty



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-10
Updated: 2012-09-10
Packaged: 2017-11-13 22:52:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teskodanceparty/pseuds/teskodanceparty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>For my sons; Thomas and Jackson - may they each find peace and never know this life of chaos.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	It ain't me, it ain't me; I ain't no fortunate one

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this AU idea](http://calvincandies.tumblr.com/post/31089408289/au-with-a-broken-heart-and-a-straight-face-im) where Thomas lives, gets out, comes back, and basically shuts clay's shit right the fuck down.

He's fifteen when he learns the truth; reads it in faded ink from their father's favorite type writer and freezes to the spot. He'd been looking for dad's old pack, figured if he was gonna split soon it'd be nice to have something of home to carry on him.

Instead there's a box with dad's name on it in his lazy scrawl, and pieces of his life kept in it. He picks up the folder on accident, his fingers tugging it free almost of their own accord, but once he starts reading it he can't stop.

_For my sons; Thomas and Jackson - may they each find peace and never know this life of chaos._

Jax finds him hours later, fingers drumming against the scar over his heart, heavy with the scent of cigarette smoke, the box's upturned lid serving as an ash tray.

"Thought you were headin' out?" Jax says, gruff and angry as he has been for the last six years.

"Yeah, I-" he starts and thinks about showing this to his brother. He should, he wants to, because _this?_ They could use it to change the club from the inside out. But then he thinks of Gemma and Clay and knows, bone-deep, that they'd never let either of them get away with it. "I got distracted. Was reading some of dad's old journals and shit."

"Yeah?" Jax says, sounding only half-interested, which is more than he's managed for a conversation between them in a while.

"Mom wants the keys to her place and storage back before you fuck off." Jax snaps, over his shoulder and it's sad; that this is how it'll be between them. All because Thomas wants out, wants something more, wants to not have as much blood on his hands as the rest of his extended family.

"Well I'm done here," Thomas says, and means it in more ways than one, tosses his keys to his brother before heading to his bike and putting Samcro and the rest of Charming at his back.

-

He doesn't keep in touch, not like he wants to at least. He gets a call from Tig occasionally, because Tig is deep in Clay's pocket and equally bat-shit insane; and sometimes Chibs will ring him, drunk as hell and slipping into an accent he could barely understand.

Every year on his birthday, like clockwork, his phone would ring and Piney would be on the other end, wishing him a safe and happy year every time in the only way he knew how.

"Be careful, ya little shit."

"Love you too, pops."

-

He's been gone a decade; gotten his GED and gone to college, dropped out and rode from California all the way east and back before he gets a call on the prepaid only four people have the number to.

"Thomas- I-I need my brother." Jax says, and he sounds decades too old, hollow and lost and broken with it all.

"Gimme a day and I'm there." Thomas says, because he could never be anyone else or say anything different.

-

He's almost thirty, bouncing his nephew on his knee in the kitchen while he listens to Tara tell them about her day. And for the first time in nearly fifteen years, Thomas is content, very nearly happy, and he has to stop to think it through for a minute.

"Hey," Tara says, hand warm on his shoulder and smiling softly down at him. He grind back up at her, leans into her for a moment before pulling away. She's chewing her lip, a nervous tick he had thought she'd have grown out of. she stands firm though, eyes worried, and she murmurs, "There's something I think you should see."

He nods, follows her down the hall and only stops to put Tommy in his crib. Abel is still down for his nap, the stuffed frog he'd picked up in Santa Cruz tucked tight under his little chin.

"What's up?" he asks in the hallway and Tara falters, just enough for him to know this is big.

"Letters John Teller wrote to Maureen Ashby. I think you deserve to see them, Thomas." she whispers, hands him the bundle of paper written by a hand he'd recognize anywhere.

Tara leaves him to read it, and once he does and digs out his father's manuscript, sits them on his lap side by side.

"Yeah," he murmurs, and feels weary in the pit of his bruised and broken heart, down to the core of every bone in his body, "alright."


End file.
